Skyrim Drabbles
by Gemleaf
Summary: A collection of mini one-shots and drabbles. Basically a bunch of stories told out of order.
1. Chapter 1

Just a collection of mini one-shots and drabbles. Nothing to see here, no rhyme or reason to the lengths or styles, one is a bit longer than the rest. There are several stories being told in an out-of-order way. Some I focus on way more than others.

...

He was an assistant hired to help him 'understand Nord culture' named Andor. Elenwen truly was some sort of idiot, thinking that this would make things less tense between the Thalmor and the locals. It was an empty gesture and everyone knew it, only around for plausible deniability on her part. The human only managed to preserve his reputation by claiming the elves were wasting their gold on him. Which they were. Ondolemar had no intention of relying on the man for anything beyond errands to the main market.

The justiciar was very aware of his disgust for everything he stood for, and frankly, the feeling was mutual. Nothing productive could come of this.

"And she wonders why we lack funding in this part of Tamriel..." he muttered, reading over the report.

...

Excerpt from: _Incident Report_

By Lieutenant Vereca

_Four bodies found, two currently missing (assumed to be) incinerated. First body found curled behind barrel, face burned away and heart ripped out. Second was a torso identified as R- through the remnants of a tattoo. Other remains were carried off by local predators. Third was fused to a roof, identified as L-. Fourth was partially consumed by (suspect). Suspect is unresponsive to interrogation, does not sleep or move. Eight soldiers tasked with guarding._

...

Sword and steel rattled at the thundering of the horses and several Altmeri soldiers cried out in alarm. The Alikr. They hadn't counted on the damn Alikr showing up. Aeron, exhausted as she was, felt a surge of energy. Vilaro hadn't lied, they were here as he said they would. Every grain of sand seemed to shift at their arrival.

For the first time, she had lost her faith in fate. It was exhilarating.

...

"They called my family traitorous," she sipped the tea, sighing in relief.

"And was it true?"

"I... I don't know."

...

The walls seemed to shudder when the Argonian barged into the tower. Erandur clutched his amulet, but smiled. "So it's true then? I've heard many things about you, but I wouldn't believe it unless you told me yourself. Presumably you're here to gloat."

Remaining quiet, but with an intense energy, he took the priest's hand and pressed a golden amulet into it, "It's been a few years, but I think I've found a way to repay you." The trinket, as simple as it was, glowed with energy – reflecting shock and disbelief in red eyes. Erandur's hands trembled like the object would disappear in any moment.

"Where in the world did you-"

His composure failing, he interrupted with excitement that bordered on childlike, "Apparently there's more of them."

_..._

"So what is it that you are implying?" the elf asked icily. Andor remained utterly silent, not knowing whether he should leave the room or remain part of the 'conversation'. If Ondolemar was severe this one was... relentlessly intense. The man's stare practically turned his blood cold, and the scars upon his face hinted that he was no stranger to combat.

"Nothing. I just hope you haven't gotten too comfortable in your position. Even the best of us can falter," every word dripped with accusations. A curt nod and a close examination of Andor's face ended the meeting. He left, shoulders back and face unreadable.

...


	2. Chapter 2

I know I haven't gotten any reviews or anything like that (barely any actual views, too), but I'm having fun doing these. So, if you are part of the one or two people who actually read the first chapter, here you go! Go ahead and use them as prompts, if you want to. There are actual stories attached to them, but everyone imagines something different when they only read a few sentences/a paragraph.

...

He wasn't sure what had happened, at first. All he heard was the crack of split leather and the thrust of his own sword into the bandit's chest. It wasn't until the Nord begged him to sit that he glanced down and saw the blood seeping into a dark, warm stain. "Well, what do you think of that, I'm bleeding..." Teldryn murmured, feeling more like he'd been kicked in the chest by an angry horse than stabbed. Frankly, the entire situation struck him as surreal. Part of him wanted to lay down in the ash and ignore his desperately thudding heart, the other was looking for some way to close the wound. His clouded mind could only produce fire as a solution. Fire that couldn't be cast strong enough to burn anything.

The Nord whispered something harshly before sweeping him from the ground, taking the elf into his arms, armor and all.

_"Just hold on... Raven Rock's only a bit farther..."_

...

The boy clutched his burnt arm.

Her smile faded as she screamed in horror.

...

Taking a deep breath, she entered the hall. A few of the students still whispered, but most sat at attention, ready to hang onto every word. In her hundred or so years of teaching, she figured out the personalities that most students had. The one at the front, the nord girl, was always very talented but was never allowed to use her abilities outside of the College. Like a natural born painter whose hands were slapped every time they reached for a brush. Of course she would be the most enthusiastic. The boy (at least a boy to her - he was likely to be barely in his twenties), a disinterested looking dunmer, was skilled and thought he already knew everything he needed.

He would learn soon enough.

"Everyone here, I imagine, knows the name of Mannimarco," of course, the Dunmer's hand shot up like an arrow. She sighed, "Yes, what is it?"

"Isn't it true," Oh dear, this would be rich, "That the man was misunderstood by historians? I mean, history is written by the victors after all."

"Why yes, you're right - historians are often far too charitable to the lunatic. And he's important, too - he's the entire reason they teach Ethics in Necromancy at the College."

...

"Falmer?" she muttered, the word itself a question to her.

Irileth grimaced at the Altmer, feeling a rare pang a pity for a Thalmor officer, "Surely you were aware of that when you sent your men down into that cave?"

The woman was confused and disturbed, "But... they're extinct..."

...

The snow was falling for a quiet audience of two that night. Ondolemar seemed to observe each and every flake with an amusing amount of discipline. Winter's chill had Skyrim by the throat and even the boldest of Stormcloak's were more hesitant to try to attack Thalmor bases with the weather taken into account. At least, this was the situation in the Reach. Truth be told, the elf had very little to do and was for the first time in months, bored. Andor thumbed through an Imperial issue of the Black Horse Courier (finally having reached Markarth), waiting to be dismissed.

"It's actually kind of pretty once you stop fuming about how terrible everything is here, isn't it?" the man smirked, "Don't tell me you've never seen snow before, though."

He turned around, almost embarrassed, "It's not common in the Dominion. When I was a child, my brother told me that snow was the tears of Auri-El." Andor couldn't contain himself - he laughed heartily. The officer was irritated, "I know you people think our gods a joke, but-"

"By Ysmir's beard, relax. It's just difficult to imagine you having a childhood." That came out colder than he intended, and he flushed with regret. It was Ondolemar's turn to chuckle, a sound both unnatural and intriguing.

...

_As long as that bitch doesn't stop us..._

And yet it still made him smile to hear his son say it: "I wanna be like Mjoll when I grow up!"

...

Someone was grasping his wrist, he realized. It may've seemed obvious then, but for a few minutes it could only be pinpointed as a distinct but alien pressure. His mind was knee deep in water. _Looks like there's a pulse. Have to admit, I thought that sellsword would've died a lot sooner. Missed that lucky bastard's heart by two inches. Two! _And suddenly there was another pressure - much heavier and leading to a deep, throbbing pain that would have made him tear up if he was fully conscious.

_What did I tell you about bringing that creature in here? Damn thing's only good for soup..._

His eyes opened to reveal the blurry shape of some sort of fur-covered animal, looking him straight in the face. The brush of whiskers revealed it to be a cat, one that smelled like a boat. Apologetically, his client, Gudmund, gathered her into his arms - much to her discontent. "Welcome back, sera," the healer said, almost with a nonchalant air. Gudmund, a large, broad-shouldered man, had eyes full of concern.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this..." he began, only to have Teldryn interrupt.

"Ah, it's fine. I wouldn't have gotten in this sellsword business if I couldn't handle being poked with a sword every now and then."

"You very nearly bled out, I wouldn't call that being poked with a sword - either way, I bought you a cat at the docks. As an apology."


	3. Chapter 3

Wow, I'm already at the third chapter. That's like, two more than one. Wanted to give a shout-out to those who reviewed - thanks! I love drabbles, especially ones that develop the world or characters. Apparently other people like drabbles, too. :)

Currently, I'm being careful about puns out of fear of getting my pun license revoked. So do not fear, no puns hear.

...

The candles flickered out like dying fireflies. Only moonlight remained to cast a silver shroud over the one woman in the temple. At times, she was all alone. When her wife left to go meet with other merchants in Ivarstead and her friends retired for the night, she lingered in the temple. Occasionally she fell asleep, but lately she had found herself kneeling at the silken altar, forehead brushing the base of the statue of Mara. It was freezing. Not even the warm light of a goddess could keep the cold out during a winter in Skyrim.

Of course she didn't care. She was used to it, by then.

"It is no redemption, but please take this as a token of my service to you..."

The woman laid a clean dagger, still dripping with warm water and soap, at the statue's feet. And she smiled. For surely the Lady and the Matron were standing side by side.

...

Ondolemar's mouth went dry as he scribbled the last words onto the letter. This was it. He simply couldn't forget the... the incident. No turning back if he didn't burn the damn thing and walk away. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

To others it was just a slip of paper, perhaps with an embarrassing task added at the end. Why else would that man - a sturdy, bearded Nord - turn so red?

...

"And that's how I got my pet," concluded Teldryn to a few curious tavern-goers. The cat mewed affectionately and jumped onto his lap, "I mostly leave her at the Netch, though. She sleeps when I want to go somewhere and fusses when I want to sit back and drink. Did I mention that cats are a terrible excuse of an apology gift?" An outlander lady, possibly a Breton, clasped him on the shoulder. He winced, everything around/near his chest still sore. She quickly apologized and stepped back.

"The little furballs will grow on you. Mark my words, you'll have an army of the damned things in the next few years or so."

"Oh joy."

...

Heat. Dry, blistering sunlight and the blinding reflection of the sands combined to create a unique form of misery: waiting. For a gust of wind, a drop of rain, cool steel at the throat. He had been tied there for two days at a stake of wood driven deep into the sand. A mercenary kicked him as he passed by - he was too exhausted to flinch. Nazir had been desperately searching for death, and that's how he found something worse. Higher and higher his bounty rose until he became too valuable too kill and too hated to be given mercy.

Murderer. Thief. Gambler. He pissed off the wrong people this time.

Only then did he hear that voice, a woman's - distinct but brief. "You sleep soundly for a murderer."

And with that, he fell into oblivion with the cries of warning and alarm.

...

Jarl Elisif smiled as she overlooked the city, villagers calling to each other just as they hurried to their homes. Her steward waited at the door.

"You can go now."

"As you wish; goodnight."

...

"You can make a stand, you know? Tell the Dominion that they follow your laws while they visit here?" Andor may have begged, but was still holding on to the last shred of dignity he had. Jarl Balgruff buried his face in his hands, tired but not entirely unsympathetic to the man's plight. Irileth stood at attention, face completely neutral while the other guards whispered among themselves.

"Listen... I know we aren't the most sympathetic and blameless of all the Thalmor's victims. Gods know how many chances I had to end it before something like this happened. But he gave up his position, his standing, everything he knew to be with me. He was living as a perfectly legitimate citizen - we left Markarth just to make it so. As far as anyone here knows, they just abducted a member of the community, dragged him to the wilderness, gods know where..." he was feeling light-headed just thinking about it.

Finally the Jarl stood up, bid the man goodbye, and motioned for Irileth to follow.

...

**Wow this was a short chapter. I hope you don't think _little _of me. I apologize for the pun, I'll show myself out, now.**


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